32. Subs and Salads
SUBS AND SALADS
Qiang’s POV
Qi’s cheerleading practice got canceled today, so we came home early and were in the kitchen making smoothies when Marcus came tearing through the house.
The front door slammed, and he was running up the stairs and slamming into his bedroom so fast I barely got a glimpse of his backside as he streaked by. Tristan wasn’t far behind him with a furrowed brow and a decidedly unhappy expression.
Qi and I exchange looks before Qi moves towards Tristan and snuggles into him. Tristan leans down and takes a deep breath, as though using Qi as a way to anchor himself.
“Why is my boyfriend broken?” I ask, knowing Qi will take care of Tristan and needing to know what’s wrong with Marcus so that I can fix it.
“Kingston Adair,” Tristan breathes out heavily.
My breath gets caught in my throat at the unexpected answer.
Honestly, since that stupid frat party where I’d kissed Cade, Kingston had thankfully kept his distance.
I’d even gotten to a point where I could ignore him in the one class we have together.
I thought maybe getting through the year with him this close wouldn’t be so bad, since he’d relatively kept to himself.
Taking everything into consideration, things had been much smoother than I’d initially thought they would be after the first few run-ins.
So hearing that he has anything to do with making Marcus that angry has something ugly coiling inside me, because I don’t know if he’s going after Marcus because of me, or if it’s for another reason, but the fact that it’s my boyfriend is enough to have my back bristling and my claws extending.
“What the fuck did he do?”
Tristan sighs, tucking his chin into Qi’s shoulder. “Coach bumped Marcus up to a starting wide receiver, and Kingston was less than thrilled. He made damn sure Marcus knew it after practice.”
“Did he hurt him?” I ask because I saw such a brief glimpse of Marcus; I couldn’t see if he’d been hurt, just very obviously pissed.
Tristan shakes his head. “No, Derrick and I stepped in before it got physical, but it was just barely.”
I give Tristan a clipped nod before heading upstairs and assessing the damage for myself. That fucker is allowed to come for me all he wants. Obviously, I don’t enjoy that scenario or his attention, but I’d rather it be me, and not Marcus, any day.
I knock once on Marcus’s door, and there’s no response. After a minute, I huff and try again.
“Hey, babe?” I call out, and the door suddenly swings wide open, revealing a very perplexed Marcus.
“Did you just call me babe?” he asks incredulously.
I bite my lip in response because, seriously, with this guy. Pissed off enough to slam doors and not answer until I start throwing out endearments, and it’s like flipping a switch, and he’s back to eager lover boy eyes.
“Fuck, that’s hot,” he mutters before pulling me into the room and melding his lips to mine.
I can’t help but give in for a moment—his kisses devouring me as they do—it's addicting as fuck. But I can also feel the desperation, the anger bleeding beneath the surface, and I pull back.
Marcus’s eyes meet mine with confusion, and I let out a huff of apology.
“As much as I really hate to say no right now, because I really do know that you want me and I’m so fucking turned on it almost hurts, but I also know most of this moment is in response to whatever Kingston said to you.
I’m sorry, but I absolutely refuse to allow that asshole a seat in our intimacy.
So, let’s backburner this until later, and maybe we could go out to dinner instead? ”
Marcus frowns at that. “How do you know about Kingston?”
I roll my eyes. “My brother is dating your bestie.”
He huffs out a laugh. I think he was going for casual, but it came out a bit sardonic because the anger is still obviously coiling through his system.
“I should have known,” he says to himself before looking at me. “Where do you want to go for dinner?”
“There’s that nice little deli just off of campus that has good subs and salads,” I tell him, happy that he seems less frustrated and more contemplative, like maybe he’s getting over the worst of it.
He raises an eyebrow at that. “Just subs and salads? You didn’t want to go to Kairos or–”
“I realize that’s the kind of place you and Tristan are used to, but I’m not into places like that, so I’d rather the deli if you don’t have your heart set on Kairos,” I point out.
It’s not that Kairos doesn’t have amazing food, because it really does; it’s just that it’s not my vibe.
I’ve never really cared for expensive and lavish things.
I mean, maybe here and there, fine, but not as a lifestyle.
And I get that it might be a bit weird for Marcus because that is his lifestyle, but hopefully, we can find a common ground somewhere in between.
“But I want to spoil you,” he says quietly, his eyes meeting mine, and it has me taking a deep breath.
I reach out and thread my fingers through his.
“You do. Every time you look at me with those eyes that tell me I’m the center of your universe, you spoil me. I don’t need things and overpriced food; I just need you.”
His eyes light up, and it feels almost like I just chased away the lingering bad feelings still coiled up inside him, as he takes a breath that sounds like a breathless chuckle, and his entire body relaxes. He pulls our intertwined hands up and kisses the back of my hand.
“Well, you definitely have me,” he says, a smile curling his face.
I beam back at him, my stomach doing an entire tap dance routine at the way I’m enough to chase his clouds away, that I’m the person who can do that for this person who is just such an amazing-best-kind-of person.
“So subs and salads?” I ask, hoping to get him out of the house and get some food in him.
He huffs out another laugh and shakes his head. “If that’s what you want, then that’s what you’ll get.”
The deli place isn’t really all that grand.
It’s full of pastel brown, pinks, and peaches, with booths on one side and high-top tables on the other.
But while the decor is a bit bland for my taste, the food is phenomenal.
I snag my favorite Italian hoagie while Marcus settles on a plain grilled chicken one.
“I heard congratulations are in order. Are you excited about the starting position?”
Marcus smiles for a moment before setting the sandwich down as a heavy emotion crosses his face.
“Yeah,” he says.
“You don’t sound very convincing,” I point out.
He picks apart his napkin a bit and nods.
“I mean, yeah, I’m excited. It’s a very good step toward my dreams. So, very, very excited...”
“But–” I prompt when he drifts off, obviously having more to say.
He stays quiet for a beat before letting out a sigh.
“But it’s just a lot of pressure. I know I’m good enough to be out there, and everyone watching me in practice knows it, too, but my brain can be rude sometimes. And honestly, I was so hyped for it earlier, and then Kingston kind of killed my mood,” he huffs out a bit.
“Is all of the rudeness in your brain because Kingston was a grade A prick when you got picked to start in Holt’s place?” I ask, hoping to dispel the bad energy Kingston injected into Marcus.
He slowly shakes his head. “No, it’s not. I’ve always had haters. And I’ve had them for the same reason Kingston is hating. They don’t think I belong out there.”
I raise a curious eyebrow at that because I don’t know much about football, but all I’ve heard since they got here is how amazing Tristan and Marcus are, and how they are football prodigies that everyone is waiting to see them play more with the certainty that they’ll blow the competition out of the water.
So the concept that anyone would think he doesn’t belong out there doesn’t quite compute.
“Why not?”
Marcus shrugs and sits back a bit. “Take your pick. Because I was born poor, because I don’t have the same background or level of training, because I don’t have a bunch of championships and competitions aside from school games under my belt, or even that there are still a lot of people out there that really don’t like it when a Black person takes a spot away from a white one,” he says.
I snort a disdainful laugh at that. All my life it’s always come down to race and money.
Sometimes I forget that while Marcus is wealthy now, he wasn’t always, and regardless of how much money he has in his pocket, he’s always been and always will be proudly Black, just like I’m proud of my Asian heritage, despite the blatant racism that exists in the world.
“Heaven forbid talent and dedication win on the field. Isn’t that what sports are supposed to be about?”
Marcus looks up at me with a smile full of affection before leaning forward.
“In theory, sure. And when you’re in grade school and somewhat in middle school, then yes, that’s what it’s about.
But starting in middle school, and even more so in high school, sports go from being fun to being a business.
Yes, I get on the field and play my heart out because I love the game, but there’s still that knowledge in my head that every step I take is toward a future career.
“The training and competitions are about winning in front of eyes that are paying attention to the next generation of professionals. The more you have, the more you’re seen.
It’s not just about the games. Some people who will play a significant role in whether you get chosen will never see you play.
Not even once. Because it’s no longer about talent and dedication; it’s about whose face is going to bring people to the stadiums to watch.
“So there are always going to be haters. There are always going to be people like Kingston who get pissed off when he has all those eyes on him, and then gets overlooked for someone who doesn’t have half the training and accolades he has.
And there are always going to be people pissed off because the person they put their lot in gets overlooked for someone like me,” he explains.